charcoal-a poem

charcoal
I said I was dark chocolate
And she laughed and said
“charcoal”
and suddenly she was not my girlfriend anymore

She was one of those little kids
Who teased me about staying in the oven too long
Or said my momma got pregnant by the tar baby
Or called me “The Creature From The Black Lagoon”

She said I was charcoal when I said I was chocolate
And then she had the nerve to think she was funny
It hurt, because suddenly she was not my girlfriend
But just some insensitive white person who went too far

Who didn’t understand that some jokes aren’t funny out of the mouths of white folks, at least not to me

But this is not really about her
Because I thought I was over it
I’ve gone through all the steps
Over and over about why I am chocolate,
Not charcoal.
I thought that it wouldn’t hurt, being called charcoal, but it does.

No matter how many Micheal Jordans, Denzels, Morris Chestnuts, no matter how many Don Cheadles I see,
Somewhere I am still the Creature from the Black Lagoon, still the mixed baby of a dark woman and the Tar Baby
The last boy to be picked to dance by the pretty girls, the brother whose name is always forgotten; “aren’t you so and so’s cousin?”
The one in the bathroom mirror trying to hard bristle brush my nappy ass hair into waves

I am charcoal, hard burned up, carbonized, utilitarian, a throwaway disposable item useful only for one or two things

Not Dark chocolate, something sweet and savory, to be looked forward to with anticipation, Something savored and treasured. A delight for the senses.

I thought I was chocolate and the woman who I thought both loved and understood me told me I was charcoal and laughed. Not even realizing what she just said.

But maybe I am charcoal because under pressure, A hard lump of utilitarian dark ass charcoal will become a diamond

And I been under pressure a long time.
I think I qualify
So yes I am charcoal.
And soon whether you see it or not,
Whether you think it is okay or not,
I will be a diamond.